


A Guy Walks Into A Bar

by happywriter16



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Canon Character of Color, Hispanic Character, Homosexuality, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Latino Character, M/M, Pre-Series, Slash, way better than the original version i wrote a long time ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7507846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happywriter16/pseuds/happywriter16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t do this. Doesn’t pick up guys in bars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Guy Walks Into A Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Way back in February 2008 I wrote this for foxriver_fic’s February Challenge using prompts 7 (gentle touch of a calloused hand) and 27 (anger and liquor). Challenge on LJ where I'm happywriter06. At the time I niektete and clair_de_lune beta it. Thanks! Over 8 years later and I've reworked it a bit. I'm a better writer. (Thank goodness!)

He should have insisted that Linc meet him at his place. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. It’s been a long week. If he was home, he could at least get some sleep. That is until Linc showed up at some ungodly hour. 

“This place is busy tonight,” Michael hears next to him. He looks up from his glass. “Hey,” says the guy that slides onto the stool next to him. He looks like he belongs here in his distressed brown leather jacket and well-worn jeans. Michael hadn’t bothered to go home and change out of his blue-gray, perfectly tailored suit. After all, Linc had insisted they meet right away. It was nearly nine when he called.

Michael smiles in greeting. He’s pissed but the smile comes easy anyway. Blame the alcohol. Blame the alcohol in his empty stomach. Blame the fact that this guy is hot and Michael can’t remember the last time he’s thought that about anyone. The guy turns doesn’t turn away under Michael’s scrutiny, his black-brown eyes happy. He has a great smile, one that takes over his whole face, one punctuated by dimples.

Michael’s not the only one that likes what he sees. Sucre hadn’t paid much attention to the guy in the suit except to notice how his body language said he definitely doesn’t want to be here. Sucre said ‘hey’ because just as he sat down this guy turned around to look at him. He had to do a double take. He wasn’t expecting eyes that blue and lips that pink. 

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Michael can tell he’s Latino by his olive skin and his voice. Michael thinks this guy’s been here awhile because there’s only the faintest hint of an accent. 

“Waiting for my brother,” Michael says, glancing towards the opening door that reveals two young women entering. “Doesn’t look like he’s going to show up.” He turns back to the guy. “Got any brothers?” Michael asks, his anger back.

“Nope. Just sisters.”

“Lucky you.”

“You don’t know my sisters.”

Their laughter fills the space between them until the moment pasts. 

“I sometimes wonder how two people with the same DNA can be so different. My brother, man.”

“I know what you mean. My cousin Hector is real cabron. His brother Manny? A saint.”

“A saint?”

“Really.” Sucre launches into a story about Manny, who is damn near close to sainthood the way Sucre tells it. And funny, too. Michael’s in the middle of laughing when then the bartender approaches to ask if he wants another. Sucre catches Michael’s eyes as he casts a quick glance in Sucre’s direction before telling her no and placing some money on the bar. “Keep the change.”

Sucre knows that look. He’s given it enough times. He’s gotten it enough times that he knows it’s up to him what happens next. There’s no question in his mind what he’s going to do. It’s just a matter of when. He knows this place and no one needs to see him leaving right after this guy.

 

Ten minutes later Michael’s still waiting and has sobered up some. He doesn’t do this. Doesn’t pick up guys in bars. He figures that maybe the guy has had second thoughts. Or he thinks he read the situation all wrong. He’s stepping to the curb to hail a cab when he hears the same ‘hey’ he’d heard earlier only it’s louder to account for the sounds of the city at night. 

“Looks like I came out just in time,” Sucre says as Michael turns.

He doesn’t even think of saying no, not when he’s smiling at Michael like that again. “Looks like.”

Slipping into the cab, Michael immediately tells the cabbie to take them to his place. It was instinct to tell the cabbie to take him home. His companion didn’t object, which Michael took as a sign there was no need to ask, “Unless you prefer your place?”

“What’s your name by the way,” the guy leans over to ask.

“Michael.” 

“You look like a Miguel. I’m Fernando. Most people call me Sucre. There are a lot of Fernandos in my part of town.”

That’s it by way of conversation. The silence does nothing to ease Michael’s nerves. He doesn’t pick up guys in bars, except when he does (and this is his first time). He’s usually the one being picked up and it’s usually on business trips by guys even more guarded about keeping this kind of thing secret. Plus, he hasn’t been with anyone in a while. Between work and work and work, he hasn’t had the time or the inclination. He knew going to meet Linc was a bad idea. This is all his fault. 

From the other end of the seat, Sucre can see Michael’s nervous. For his part, Sucre isn’t. He can’t really put a finger on why. It’s not like he drank enough to not be nervous. And he should maybe be nervous considering who Sucre thinks Michael is. Some rich guy, the kind of guy that looks down on guys like Sucre when they don’t’ want to fuck him. Sometimes even then. 

He watches the scenery change from slightly rundown homes and young guys on corners to high rises and well-dressed couples strolling through downtown. He watches the city as Michael watches him from time to time. He can still feel that Michael’s edgy so more than once he turns and smiles. It seems to make Michael feel better, at least for the moment, because he smiles back. Sucre even considers reaching over to put a hand on his knee but figures that might make things worse. 

 

“This is my place,” Michael announces as they step across the threshold. He doesn’t flick on the light since it would ruin the view. He’s been in this place a couple of years now and he still doesn’t tire of it. There’s something about watching the city at night from this high up when it’s all lit up and his apartment is dark. It’s even better in the summertime when he leaves the doors open to feel the breeze off the river. He figures he’s not tired of it yet because he doesn’t get to enjoy it much. 

When Linc first saw it, he said it’s a chick magnet. It works on guys, too. Well, the two guys that he’s ever had over. There’s something about the idea of being fucked or fucking someone against cold glass when no one can see you. 

Sucre’s drawn the glass just as Michael expected. “Man, I wish I had a view like this,” he says turning to Michael. Michael just smiles as he makes his way over to the view. The second he’s close for Sucre to touch, Sucre has him pinned to the glass. The same second the cold of the glass starts to seep through the silk of his shirt into his skin from the back Sucre’s heat seeps in through the front. 

Sucre tastes like beer and peppers, their heat now mellowed by time and alcohol. Their tongues slip and slide against each other as Sucre grinds his hips into Michael’s. Michael pushes Sucre’s jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. It makes a soft thud against the hardwood floor. He trails his fingers back up Sucre’s arms feeling the mix of surprisingly soft skin and hard muscle that twitches under his touch. 

“Suave,” he can’t help but murmur against Sucre’s lips. Suave, soft in Spanish, being one of the few words he remembers from taking it in high school. He can’t say the same about Sucre’s hands as they make their way under his shirt. Not that he’s complaining. His calloused hands running up his torso feels goods, makes the goose bumps that were already there stand out some more. Sucre’s hands scrape over Michael’s nipples, which causes Michael to suck in a breath. 

“Te gusta?” Sucre asks as he leans in to kiss the skin of Michael’s throat because he’s just exposed it to such attention. Male or female, there’s something about whoever he’s with doing that.

He can’t quite put his finger on what Michael smells like. It’s probably some expensive as cologne he can’t afford. And he tastes like? He doesn’t know that either. It doesn’t really matter. All Sucre knows is Michael’s taste and his smell flood his body with desire. 

“Sí,” Michael breathes out. Linc said take French. “The language of love. You know girls like that shit and you need all the help you can get.” Right now he’s glad he didn’t listen to his big brother. 

Pretty soon both of their shirts have joined Sucre’s jacket on the floor. Sucre works his way down Michael’s chest and stomach alternately kissing and licking. Michael shivers as the air hits his wet skin. He breathes deeply as he waits for Sucre to touch him there. He’s hard, been semi-hard since before they stepped inside. He closes his eyes in anticipation, willing himself to calm down. It’s been entirely too long since he’s been with anyone, even himself. Work doesn’t even leave much energy for that. 

Sucre’s hot mouth is on him and it’s all he can do not to slide down the glass. He seems to have broken out into a sweat as Sucre’s lips begin work their way up and down his shaft.

He continues with the deep breaths as Sucre increases the friction steadily. This guy definitely knows what he’s doing with his mouth and then his hands; one gently gripping Michael’s hip to keep him in place and the fingers of the other every so often brushing against his anus. He can’t help but thrust forward when that happens, and that of course does nothing to keep him from wanting to come now. 

“Sucre,” he whispers.

“Oh, Papi, I like it when you say my name like that.” He’s whispering, too as he stands to kiss Michael hard on the mouth. Michael smiles as he tastes himself on Sucre’s lips. Not that he has long to dwell on that as his dick is trapped between their bodies demanding Sucre’s attention once again. 

It’s painful, the rough fabric of Sucre’s jeans rubbing against the delicate skin of his erection. Yet, it feels good. It feels so good that Michael’s sure it won’t be long before he coming. “Sucre,” he manages to get out but Sucre pays him no mind. He just swallows Michael’s moans jerks Michael to completion. 

“Sorry,” Michael says in between gasps for air, his hands lightly gripping Sucre’s shoulders. Michael can tell that Sucre could care less about his pants as he stares into his eyes. Michael’s satisfied as he relaxes his grip and the rest of his body. He’s totally spent, but he can feel and see that Sucre isn’t, that he’s still fired up and ready to go. His eyes are still dark with desire. 

“S’kay,” he says, running his thumb along Michael’s jaw. “Turn around,” he gently commands.

Michael turns but not before totally removing the rest of his clothing and his shoes. He plants his feet wide and braces himself as best he can considering his hands are slick with sweat. 

The clank of Sucre’s belt buckle hitting the floor is loud in the quiet of the room. Then he hears the tearing of foil and he’s suddenly grateful one of them remembered. 

“Relax,” Sucre tells him, his voice low as one hand rests on Michael’s shoulder and the other is placed at Michael’s entrance. “Listo?” Michael only nods as Sucre kisses the back of his neck before he’s sliding a finger inside. 

Obviously relaxing is easier said than done as Michael tightens around his finger. Sucre coaxes him to let go with more kisses and whispered words. “Feels good, Papi?” Sucre asks. He strokes Michael’s left side, gentle strokes, waiting until Michael says, “Ready.” 

Sucre’s vaguely aware Michael isn’t prepped enough but if Michael says he’s ready, he’s not going to argue when he’s been ready. It takes three thrusts before Michael’s ass is pressed firmly against his groin. They both stop once Sucre’s buried inside, savoring the moment. Then Michael is moving and Sucre holds his breath. 

“Don’t do that Papi,” he hisses. “Por favor.”

“Por favor, Fernando,” Michael practically purrs. Sucre can see Michael’s smirk reflected in the glass. 

Michael can feel Sucre’s nails make half moons in the skin of his hips as Sucre grips him hard. His thrusts are rougher now, which makes Michael feel like he’s being split in two. He revels in the steady push pull of Sucre’s cock as his world seems to narrow to the heat in his midsection. Sucre’s words – not quite English, not quite Spanish – mingle with the low moans he manages to coach from Michael. 

There’s something about the sound of skin slapping skin that has always gotten to Sucre. This time is no different as he watches his cock slide in and out of Michael. 

It’s not long before his speed picks up a maddening pace then Sucre stop cold. He leans into Michael, his forehead resting against Michael’s neck. He’s breathing hard, his hands still holding firm on Michael’s hips. 

“The bathroom is down the hall on the right.”

Once Sucre is no longer inside of him, Michael feels weightless, feels like there’s no glass under his hands or floor under his feet as he makes his way to his bedroom. He doesn’t slide under the covers, just falls into bed. He’s on the precipice of sleep when he can feel he’s not alone. He opens his eyes, barely making out the shape of Sucre standing in the doorway. He thinks he must be smiling because Sucre walks towards the bed and then lies down next to him. 

***

His bedroom is awash in bright light as the sun streams in through the floor to ceiling windows. He blinks, trying to adjust to the unforgiving light as he props himself up on his elbows. He hates when he forgets to close the shades. 

He feels sticky. His legs hurts. His ass stings. And the spot next to him looks like someone slept there. He doesn’t see anything that doesn’t belong to him so he figures Sucre took off. 

He’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth when he hears a string of curses in Spanish. Grabbing his robe, he makes his way into kitchen. Sucre’s standing at his stove. Michael observes he has a really nice ass. 

“You always cook naked?” Michael asks. 

“Buenos días,” Sucre says as he turns. “It’s all your fault,” Sucre tells him, mock serious. If he wasn’t already naked, he’d feel stripped bare under Michael’s stare as he seems to take in every inch of his body. 

“What is?” Michael asks as he pulls his eyes back up to meet Sucre’s.

“Me in your kitchen naked. My clothes are in the washing machine. Hope you don’t mind because you can’t expect me to leave here with jizz on my pants.”

“You could have gotten my robe.”

“I didn’t want to get too comfortable,” Sucre tells him going back to his work.

Michael laughs. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that.” He makes his way back to his bedroom. When he comes back to the kitchen, he’s in sweats and has his robe in his hand. “Here,” he says to Sucre. 

“Gracias, Papi.”

Sucre is slipping into the robe when there is a knock at the door. “I’ll be right back.”   
Michael looks through the peephole and sees Linc shifting nervously in the hallway. He lets out an annoyed huff before opening the door but only enough so he can slip through it. 

“What I’m not welcome now?” Linc asks angrily, all nervousness gone.

“I got company,” Michael tells him. He doesn’t know why he’s speaking so low. 

A slow, proud smile spreads across Linc’s face. “My boy.” Michael just rolls his eyes. “Did she like the view?”

“Worked like a charm.”

“I told you. Anyway, don’t let me interrupt. I’ll come back later. I’ll call first.” He gives Michael’s shoulder a squeeze before moving down the hall. He’s almost to the elevator, Michael still outside his door, when he turns to ask, “You met this girl last night?”

“Yeah,” Michael asks, unsure as to where this is going. 

“And you didn’t want to meet me. See what happened? You finally got laid.”

Michael just nods and watched Linc get onto the elevator then goes back inside to see find if Sucre’s up for round two.

**Author's Note:**

> Wikipedia told me cabron means a@@hole.


End file.
